Chapter Two Do You Play Poker?

Ariana POV 

I sat on the bed’s edge for five solid minutes before I could move.

My heart wouldn’t quit racing. I ran my trembling hands through my hair,trying to calm my brain. The shaking refused to stop.

I needed answers. I had to go downstairs.

Deep breath, Ariana. Sort this mess out, then never see him again.

The receptionist spotted me approaching. Her face was drained of color.

“Ms. Cross, I’m so, so sorry.” Words tumbled out before I could speak. 

“There’s been a terrible mistake. The Presidential Suite we gave you… it wasn’t yours. It belongs to Mr. Alex. He booked it three months ago.” Her fingers attacked the keyboard frantically. 

“When Mr. Carmichael cancelled this morning, I accidentally reassigned his reservation code to you instead of marking the cancellation. I gave you Mr. Alex’s room by mistake.”

The words hit like a blow. “So I’ve been… that was his room?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m deeply sorry.”

Heat flooded my face. Of course. Of course it was.

“Can I get another room then?” My voice pitched too high. “I’ll take whatever’s available. Anything.”

The receptionist looked close to tears. “That’s the problem. We’re completely booked for the week. There’s a huge corporate event. Every single room is occupied.”

“Every room?” My chest constricted.

“I’ve checked everywhere. We have absolutely nothing until next Friday.”

“What about other hotels?” My voice started shaking.

“The next resort is over an hour away. They’re fully booked for the same event. I already called.”

My walls started closing in. I’d come here to escape David and Jessica. Now I couldn’t even have that.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked as tears filled my eyes.

My lip trembled. I probably looked pathetic.

But I couldn’t catch a break.

The receptionist looked like she also wanted to cry herself. 

“Ms. Cross, I don’t know what to say. This is entirely our fault…”

“It’s fine.” A deep voice came from behind me. “She can stay in the suite.”

I froze.

“Sir?” The receptionist’s confusion was evident.

“Mr. Alex, are you certain? The Presidential Suite only has one bedroom. You’d be sharing…”

“I know what I’m offering.” He glanced at me with an unreadable expression.

I looked at him, unable to process what he was saying. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s your room. You booked it months ago. I just…” I wiped at my eyes quickly, embarrassed. “I can’t take your room.”

He finally looked at me properly. His dark eyes were steady and intense. “You have somewhere else to go?”

“No, but…”

“Then it’s settled.” He turned back to the receptionist. “Give her a key.”

“Mr. Alex, I must inform you…the suite only has one king-sized bed. The couch isn’t suitable for sleeping. Are you absolutely certain about this arrangement?”

“Just give her the key.” His tone killed any argument dead.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

The receptionist handed me a key card with trembling hands. “Again, Ms. Cross, Mr. Alex, I cannot apologize enough. We’ll compensate all your services for the week…”

He was already walking toward the elevator.

I grabbed my key and hurried after him.

We rode up in silence. I kept my eyes glued to the floor numbers, too mortified to look at him. When we reached the suite, he held the door open without speaking.

The living area was beautiful…floor-to-ceiling windows, plush couches, a full kitchen. But my eyes went straight to the single bedroom visible through the open door.

One bed.

One very large, very intimate king-sized bed.

Oh God.

“Thank you,” I said quietly as I stepped inside. “Really. You didn’t have to…”

He set his bag down and glanced at the bedroom, then at the couch. “The couch pulls out. I’ll take that.”

“No.” The word came out before I could stop it. “This is your room. Your vacation. I’m not making you sleep on a pull-out couch.”

“You’re not making me do anything.”

“We can share.” My face burned the second I said it. “The bed, I mean. It’s big enough. We can just… stay on our sides.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “Are you sure about that?”

No. Not even a little bit.

“Yes,” I lied.

So… do I call you Mrs. Cross?” He asked.

I blinked. “No. Ariana.”

He nodded, stepping closer, his voice low. “I’m Alex.” I nodded once. 

He grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom.

I stood there, processing what I’d just agreed to.

Sharing a bed. With a stranger. A ridiculously attractive stranger who’d already seen me in the most compromising position imaginable.

What the hell was I thinking?

Hours later, after we’d both showered and changed and pointedly avoided each other, I found myself staring at that bed like it was a guillotine.

Alex was already under the covers on the right side, eyes closed, looking completely at ease. Like sharing a bed with a stranger was something he did every day.

Meanwhile, I was having a minor panic attack.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” His voice was low, and his eyes were still closed.

“I’m coming,” I muttered.

I climbed onto the left side as carefully as possible, trying not to jostle the mattress. 

I pulled the covers up to my chin. I turned onto my side, facing away from him, and pressed myself as close to the edge as physically possible.

The wall was cool against my shoulder. If I pressed any harder, I’d probably go through it.

The bed was massive, but somehow it felt tiny. I was hyper-aware of every breath he took, every small movement. The space between us felt electric.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I couldn’t tell.

“You’re going to fall off,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re literally one inch from the edge.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silence. Then: “Ariana.”

Something about the way he said my name made my breath catch. “What?”

“Relax. I’m not going to touch you.”

“I know that.” But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t sleep. Not like this. Not with my entire body wound tight as a spring, very aware of the man behind me.

“I can’t do this,” I finally whispered.

The mattress shifted. “What?”

“Come on.” He got out of bed, and I watched him walk to the living area.

“Where are you going?”

“If neither of us can sleep, we might as well do something.” He grabbed something from his bag. A deck of cards.

I followed him, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. “It’s one in the morning.”

“So?” He sat on the couch, started shuffling. “You play poker?”

I blinked at the sudden shift. “What?”

“Poker.” His voice was low. Almost rough. “Do you play?”

“I… yes? My dad taught me when I was younger. Why?”

“Play with me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Now?”

He was already dealing cards on the coffee table.

I sat down across from him, pulling the blanket tighter. 

“Just so you know, I’m pretty good. My dad taught me when I was twelve.”

He dealt in silence. Expression giving nothing away.

I picked up my cards. We played a hand in complete silence.

I won.

He gathered the cards. Dealt again. Still silent.

I won the second hand too.

On the third deal, he paused. His eyes lifted to mine. Something flickered there…dark and challenging.

“Let’s make it strip poker,” he said quietly.

I nearly dropped my cards. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you serious?” My face burned. “We just met!”

He didn’t smile. Just kept those intense eyes locked on mine. “You said you wanted to make it up to me.”

“I meant like… buying you dinner or something…”

“This is what I want.” His voice was low. Steady. “You said you’re good. Prove it.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was insane. Completely reckless. I always thought things through. Always played it safe.

But something about the way he looked at me made heat pool low in my stomach.

“This is crazy,” I whispered.

I thought aboutDavid. About playing it safe my whole life. About all the times I’d chosen the sensible option.

And I thought about how well that had worked out.

“Fine,” I heard myself say.

His eyes darkened. “Fine?”

“Deal the cards.”